23 Conceal'd beneath a mangled leap, His hurried search had miss'd All glowing from his rosy sleep, His cherub boy he kiss'd ! Nor scratch had he, nor harm nor dread--- But the same couch beneath, Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead--- Tremendous still in death! Ah! what was then Llewellyn's pain ! For now the truth was clear; The gallant hound the wolf had slain, To save Llewellyn's heir. Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe: “ Best of thy kind, adieu ! The frantic deed which laid thee low, This heart shall ever rue !" And now a gallant tomb they raise, With costly sculpture deck'd; And marbles, storied with his praise, Poor Gelert's bones protect. Here never could the spearmen pass, Or forester, unmoved; Here oft the tear-bespringled grass Llewellyn's sorrow proved.
